People Are Strange
by vogueinnocencebeauty
Summary: 3 weeks after The Breakfast Club, Simmone Nightingale walks into her first Saturday detention. She has a story, but will she share it with the one person who joins her in the boring eight hours?
1. Who Is It?

I knew that this would be my luck. The flaming sphere in the sky is glowing down from the cloudless aqua sky, its beaming rays kissing my already bronzed skin. A tender breeze encircles around me, howling along in a song with the chirping birds. On a beautiful Saturday day like this, I should be one of the overjoyed teenagers adoring the two days where we are liberated from the exhausting work and domineering teachers getting paid to scrutinize us that generates the world of education.

I can't believe I have to spend one of the only two days of freedom in school. I had whined about this unjust fact to my dad at breakfast this morning. As usual he was too captivated in his work of accounting, fatiguing himself at an early hour for the promotion he is hungering for. My dad – Maxwell Nightingale is what most people would label 'a workaholic' since he spends hours after hours slaving away at different peoples bank accounts, monitoring businesses taxes and more tiring situations that I tend to avoid to bring up in conversation.

I saunter down the street in a light grey oversized jumper with a neck cut so it slouches off one shoulder, scarlet lace leggings along with feather roaches with an array of mulberry, royal blue and pale pink bouncing in my voluminous coffee hair as my heels click on the sidewalk and the sound of The Bangles blaring out from my headphones that are connected to my cassette walkman. This day isn't going to be as exhilarating as it would have been if I hadn't have gotten placed in this wearisome eight hour imprisonment. There's nothing I can do about it now, what happened in the past stays in the past to my demise. If I had a chance to alter it though, I wouldn't hesitate for a single moment.

Suddenly a muffled growling sound approaches me; I rotate around to view my older sister behind the wheel of razor-edge silver car. My twenty-two year old sister – Heather Nightingale, in my opinion is a saviour. She's aided me through thick and thin, and has never failed me. Not to mention along with her charitable personality, she has impeccable looks as well to combine. Heather has hair of the purest black colour glazed with a natural shine and her eyes are so brown they are like a river of liquefied dark chocolate. She has a bright future ahead of her as she is training to become a physical therapist at an elite university. Ever since she joined at the age of eighteen, I hardly see her anymore. Heather had her future scheduled at a young age – go to school, get outstanding grades and go to university whilst having a moderately good time with close friends that didn't include alcohol, drugs, cigarettes or attending disreputable celebrations dedicated to nothing but the enjoyment of drunken nights.

"You look kinda cold, sis! Wanna ride?" she asks, immediately I jump into the warm shelter of the car. "I'll take that as a yes!" she then giggles as I slam the car door behind me. "Does Dad know you're going to detention?"

"Would he give a shit anyway? He's too busy worrying about his little promotion, remember?" I retort with nothing but sarcasm and slight infuriation, I have remorse almost instantly for what I've just said. Heather just rolls her eyes at me, thankfully she can relate to my resentment to a certain extent. She's the oldest child after all; she's qualified when it comes to my fathers' work fixation.

"Want me to tell him for you, Simmone? Not like he's gonna ground you or anything" I have never been grounded or restricted from going anywhere in my whole life. My dad thinks that me being unconstrained from rules and regulations is the flawless technique of earning my forgiveness.

Heather restores that snarling noise of the engine as she rotates the golden key whilst heightening her eyebrow at me, cueing my reply.

"Like you said, he's not gonna ground me or anything, so what's the point in telling him?" I question, Heather already has knowledge that there's no significance in telling our dad the reason I'm out of the house all day. He'll most likely be presuming I'm at something where all the kids like me go to meet up with boisterous men and greet themselves with irresponsibility.

"Well, ok then" Heather sighs in vexation, knowing that it's better if she just agrees with me. We sit in complete silence with only the ginger sound of classical music playing in the background. I peer outside, my posture slouched and my fingers clasped around my slim waist, yearning for my troubled thoughts to be dragged into dreamworld. It won't happen though, that entrancing world doesn't exist to me. It's never existed, and it never will.

The car grinds to a sudden halt, my little piece of serenity being vanquished.

"How the hell did you get your driver's licence?" I ridicule in a slow voice to show my sarcasm, referring to the unpredicted stop. Heather just chuckles at me, our relationship is like this. We don't fight like vicious men; we have petty conflicts such as this, both of us having the knowledge that we adore each other to pieces.

"Intelligence and focus, stick to those two things and you'll be ok in life" Somehow Heather, ever since my memory allows me to recall, has had pieces of advice with the purpose of guiding me through every day that drifts past.

"Gee, thanks. I'll remember that when I'm writing my essay on how this day is gonna teach me a lesson" I tug the two corners of my rosy lips up into a cynical smile, dropping them just as quickly.

"Glad to see how I've inspired you!" Heather laughs, absorbing in my pessimistic side as humour. I'm accustomed to how she deals with my personality now. I roll my eyes and abandon her gleeful presence, slamming the polished door behind me. "What time you want picking up?" her voice sounds stifled as its suffocated by the four silver doors that act as a person's entrance and an escape.

I lazily revolve around, circling my index finger to indicate that she should wind the sterile window down in order for me to reply. She does this, leaning over the obstacles in her way.

"How about five seconds?" once again, she repeats her frustrating titter that reminds me of a broken record duplicating since she does it every single time my ironic side arises.

"Unless you want me to get arrested for speeding, then you're gonna have to wait about nine hours" she giggles at her own witty joke whilst my eyes stare at her dully. I begin my journey to a day of utter monotony, advancing quickly towards the building that replicates an enslaved prison. "See you later!"

A girl with auburn pigtails, quite picturesque with a natural face, scampers so she's equal with me. In her knee length plaid skirt, beige sweater and colossal glasses, members of the school can analyse her to be one of the geeks. Her name is Mary Hall, and as well as being a nerd on the science team going into the science national competition, she grovels at my very feet just for a miniscule taste of popularity. I am not popular nor am I not accepted by society, I belong to the class in the middle where people are neither arrogant like those in the higher clique nor reserved with a book based on Physics. We are the middle, the group with the biggest population.

"Hi, Simmone! What you doing at school so early?" Mary Hall enthusiastically chirps, clutching a book with a pattern matching her skirt securing the pages inside, and flashing her uneven teeth protected by a silver brace glinting in the sunlight.

"I could ask you the same question, Mary" my view is in a straight line, the only sight I have of Mary Hall is in the corner of my eye which makes her appear hazy.

"Well, I'm at a class with Mr Malone along with some other people. Say, would you like to come along? It'll be super to have you – "

"I'm at detention, Mary. But thanks for the offer, I'm sure it'll be swell" my tone remains uninterested, yet a little piece buried inside of me wishes to let her down gently.

"Oh, well, since you're in the library, we might see each other at some point! I'm probably gonna get a book out on Mathematics..." she trails on with an elongated list of the many books consumed with education she'll borrow from the school library that will be my cell for the day.

"Enjoy your class, Mary. See you around" I smile hastily before dashing up the concrete stairs and through the sturdy double doors.

"See you later, Simmone! It was nice talking to you again!" the echoes of Mary Hall's squeaky voice races into my pierced ears before the doors slam to bar them from competing in the race of sound.

I make my way down the godforsaken halls where the only objects residing are pieces of derelict paper scribbled in homework drifting around by the fuel of air, and the permanent burgundy lockers that store personal belongings to other inmates of the school. It's abnormal seeing it so empty, it's like a flatline – it's lost all life.

Finally, I reach the library crowded with ancient books dating back to the 1900's crammed together in numerous rows. The three pine tables at the front attract my attention. I walk over to them, dragging out a seat with a bloodcurdling screech created by the seats metal legs and floor colliding, and then sitting in it. The chair is solid and cold, rather uncomfortable to sit on in my opinion. It just shows what less than twenty four hours without school can do to you after you arrive back to the luxuries of home.

"You know the drill, Bender. Library, then sit" I hear Principal Vernon scold from far away.

There are two people in our school with the surname of Bender. One is a famous jock with the name of Abe, short for Abraham but unless you want a black eye then his name is Abe, Bender with a foul temper and determination to get me as his girl. The other, is John Bender – the devilish juvenile who doesn't give a care in the world. No matter how much I despise Abe Bender, if it's John Bender – then I'm doomed.

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**My first Breakfast Club story! Let me know what you guys think in a review, hope you enjoy! :D Thank you for reading! **


	2. Confirmation

Intently, my ears wait to perceive the validation of which Bender is walking with Principal Vernon down the solitary hallways whose only friends are the scraps of information obviously abandoned intentionally by pupils in order to escape the annoyance of homework.

Somehow, Mary Hall rushes into my head. Her obsession with homework is unhealthy, far too unhealthy for my liking. I know she has companions, close ones who she can trust with her life, but does she have any communication with them after school hours? Or is she bound to her best friends? She will later be educated about her most deadly fear once we leave any form of education; homework will desert her like a villain would. When that day comes, whereas most people will be overjoyed, I can imagine her stuck in her bedroom without a soul in the world to talk to. It's quite a dismal idea though in all honesty. My brain wants to refuse the notion, but the harsh reality battles with it.

In a way, I find it almost unfeasible to muse over what everyone in this school is going to be like when we finish. Due to stereotypes and judgements designed, everyone's future has already been foretold. Whether these prophecies will come true or not is an entirely different matter. I just hope that my prediction doesn't ever become a reality. I wouldn't be able to bear it if it did.

The footsteps ripen in sound; they are getting closer to the area of restriction. Soon I will have the knowledge of which Bender I have the pleasure of spending the day with.

Principal Vernon strides into the deplorable cell where the convicted will be sentenced to eight hours of no social interaction with the outside world. Outside of this room, there is life thriving at the chance of freedom. Freedom has been pillaged from the two people who are sealed in the cell for it is the consequence of their previous actions. My reason has justification to defend it. Although it screams and yells, imploring to be heard by anyone, nobody listens. Who ever does pay attention to me though? When you are entitled with a slander, it is rare for anyone to listen.

"Sit, Bender" Principal Vernon sternly commands, his arm snapping out to point at the reserved chair. There is no reply, only a high pitched whistle singing an ancient tune. Intrigued, I bend over the wooden square desk, attempting to peep a glimpse of whom Principal Vernon is addressing to.

Anticipation formulates in my whole entire body combined with other emotions. I consider this scenario like flipping a coin, and I have chosen heads. If the coin lands on heads, it will not be the Bender I dread it to be. However, if it is revealed to be tails, then everything I am accustomed to will shatter. It is the ambiguity of their identity that makes the apprehension intensify.

"Sit back in your seat" Principal Vernon growls, instantly twisting around and removing his parasite of a presence from my view as he marches out. As soon as my middle finger flicks up behind his back, the room of boredom morphs into one of amusement. Though it may seem immature, it delivers a grand sense of liberty to me.

The ear-piercing whistling matures in volume; my teeth sink into my bottom lip as the noise becomes intolerable. To make matters worse, the once anonymous first name has been exposed just by one glance into their molten chocolate eyes – it is John Bender. Accepting this fact causes the dreary future to become a failure with elements of menace.

"Aw, come on, Sir! I was just reading the beautiful posters the ninth graders made. I thought you would have wanted me to appreciate the work of minors" Bender arrives with a cunning remark. Only John Bender could enter a detention where we are supposed to be learning from our errors, with such crafty excuses.

"Garbage, Bender, you were finishing your cigarette. Even though I told you at the start to put it out before entering the grounds!" Principal Vernon accesses John Bender's comfort zone, and is not successful in the simple task of unnerving him. Bender's facial expression is neutral, exhibiting he is unaffected by our superiors method of confrontation.

"I'm not one for wasting, Sir. You should know this considering I smoke the cigarettes I haven't finished in History class" Bender retorts, talking to Principal Vernon as if he is an infant, confirming he is undefeatable when it comes to responding to Principal Vernon's challenges. It is then his eyes situate themselves onto me. Almost instantly, a smirk leisurely creeps up on his lips. "How kind of you, Sir! You brought me a hot girl!"

"Gee thanks, but you can shut the fuck up now" I smile sweetly with all of the words I spoke consisting of sarcasm.

"No more compliments for you, missy!" Bender yells boisterously in a booming voice, shooting his arm out to direct his finger at me. "And watch your language too, swearing in front of the fucking principal like that! Fucking disgusting, Miss Nightingale! You should be ashamed!"

I can't help myself but to snicker at his hypocriticalness as it originates a memory in my private thoughts of when he made an impolite but hilarious joke in our tenth grade Geography class, involving Principal Vernon, Mrs Vernon, and the Geography teacher. Why this memory springs up, I do not know. With Bender, various recollections are made known from the deepest chambers of my brain.

"And you say I won't make nothin' of myself, Sir! I got a hot chick laughing at me, that'll bring in the money!" Principal Vernon and I roll our eyes in sync.

One of the two eyes are ones of disapproval, and they belong to me. The pair Principal Vernon owns rotate in incredulity, as he has always mistrusted Bender's future. According to his own beliefs, Bender's potential in life might as well be a speck of dust – insignificant and undetectable. In his mind, Bender will end up in a short demise or a lifetime of living on the glacial streets of Illinois beseeching for a dollar just so he can feed himself. Principal Vernon's mind is a cruel place where those wishing for torture would visit. All it contains is the fatality of all the students' futures.

"Just sit down, Bender, and cut the gags. They aren't amusing anyone" Principal Vernon orders. However, the both of us acknowledge Bender will protest.

To our surprise, Bender sits down in the extra chair behind me, the legs grating against the solid floor as if objecting to the motion. There is a moment of silence where Principal Vernon and Bender enrol themselves in a battle of the eyes. Principal Vernon smiles, pleased with himself and assuming he has overpowered the likes of Bender, and begins to depart.

"Technically, Sir, Simmone was laughing" Both of our thoughts have been conquered by Bender once again. I should have known this would happen as Bender is never removed from his power. Principal Vernon freezes. His fists clench and his rapid nasal breathing can be heard throughout the whole school. "Therefore, it did amuse someone"

It was foreseen that Principal Vernon would react to Bender's retaliation as his compressed fists tighten to a new extreme, the boiling red splotches of blood forming under his skin consuming his fingers provides Bender great satisfaction.

"You have eight hours – write" Principal Vernon mutters through gritted teeth before exiting hastily.

His words bring pure realisation to me – I am chained to the notorious John Bender for eight hours – with no chance of escape. I can only ask myself one question: How am I going to survive?

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**Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait, but I'm so happy at the response I've gotten to this story! Hopefully, I can update quicker :) **

**Thank you for the reviews, followings and favouriting, and I hope you enjoy this chapter :D **


	3. Rumours

Not only was this day going to drain me of all the energy I had assembled whilst in a deep slumber where only the illusions of nightmares could ridicule me. I am accustomed to the recurring nightmares now, as they have been constantly taunting me since the tender age of eleven. There is one noise, one sound that will always never fail to haul me into the frantic world of anxiety – her scream. The ear shattering scream will haunt me until the very moment I die.

"Wanna smoke?" A muffled, deep voice accesses my subconscious daydream. The snapping of two fingers averts my attention though. I shake my head, my dark tresses quavering along with the hasty motion. "Am I boring you, Nightingale?"

I blink a few times so I can stir myself before swivelling around in my chair to face John Bender who is inclining his back across the small surface area of the table in order to make his mystifying yet stern chocolate eyes stare at me. Immediately, I propel myself into the cynical mode I have attached to my personality over the years.

"No, but you're annoying me. Same thing, I guess" I pin the two corners of my lips upwards, making them plummet down into their natural state just as quickly. Bender chuckles, a low chuckle that matches the tone of his voice. He tilts my chin, enclosing onto my face until our noses converge.

"I'll have to entertain you then. Won't I, Nightingale?" he whispers, a smirk stitched on his mouth. The noisiest raspberry known to man explodes out of his mouth, droplets of his saliva ejecting onto mine.

Instantly, I express my disgust in a groan and commence wiping his spit from my mouth as Bender cackles hysterically at his so-called achievement in the background.

"Entertained yet?" he asks through pants, gathering his breath back from his fit of laughter. I scowl at him, as he has already acknowledged my answer. However, in true a Bender approach, he smirks to exhibit that he knows but won't relinquish this fact until I confirm it.

"Can I have that smoke now?" It wasn't a question, it was an imperative. Bender dramatically flaunts the packet of cigarettes, drawing out his arm so it is in my reach before snagging it back, clutching it to his chest possessively, pout on his lips intact like a preschooler not getting his own way. "You ain't funny, Bender"

Bender gasps in mock horror, his jaw declining at a rapid speed. I just roll my eyes. I'm getting weary of his immature antics now, and we haven't even shared the same air for an hour yet!

"My, oh, my, Nightingale! How impolite of you!" Bender barks, shaking his head to making his bottom lips wobble – a fine impersonation of our plump Math teacher, Mrs Cordial. Speedily, he returns back to his normal easy going self, slumping down into his seat. "Do I look like I give a shit about what you think?"

"You did a few seconds ago when you were mimicking Mrs Cordial" I state, sardonically imitating Bender by resting my feet on his table and stooping my posture. I wink to hint the ironic joke, and of course, just to aggravate him. It doesn't work, but I thought I'd give it a shot.

"Ever heard of sarcasm, Nightingale?" he inquires, glaring at my feet.

"Got taught to speak it fluently in first grade, Bender, and looked it up in the dictionary several times" I do my signature smile that etches irony again.

"Kindergarten, Nightingale, kindergarten" he proudly declares, using his two thumbs to gesture he is the one who mastered sarcasm before me. His view slowly transfers onto my white stilettos, frowning at them as if they displease him. "And get your feet off my table, they stink" He begins to waft away the invisible stench, dramatising the whole movement.

"Not as bad as yours!" I holler to Bender who's going behind the statue situated oddly in the middle of our cage to light up a cigarette, or so I assume he's going to do that.

He saunters confidentially back over to the tables, whistling the song from earlier, but he doesn't sit down. I raise a groomed eyebrow at him. Bender's plotting something. I can just tell by his whole demeanour that he's up to no good.

"Want that cigarette now?" he offers, continuing to whistle after the query. I knit my eyebrows together and begin to scan his body. My eyes widen but I'm quick to glower at him. A rectangular shape is blatantly positioned where Bender's crouch is. What prank is he going to initiate this time? "Well, Nightingale, looks like if you're desperate for that cigarette, you'll have to get it yourself" I'm not that forlorn without a cigarette, I've got my own spare cigarettes in my bag anyway.

"There is no way in hell, I'm putting my hand down your pants, Bender" I say in a drone voice, my eyes fixated on the package.

"Do you know what the great thing is?" We stare at each other for a moment. What is this grand thing Bender is drivelling on about? "These aren't my cigarettes. Check your bag, Nightingale, and you'll see that your cigarettes have vanished into thin air"

Our eyes meet, chaining themselves to a battle. If I'm fortunate, they won't actually be located in his boxers. Instead, if luck is on my side, Bender's just simply creating the illusion they're down his boxers.

I launch out of my seat, charging at Bender who soon starts to circulate the three desks in the middle row.

"Bender!" I scream, chasing him around the wooden tables at a gradual speed due to my shoe choice. "You're making me run in fucking high heels!"

We both halt. Bender's at the top of the set of desks and I'm at the bottom, both of our humid palms glazed in sweat press against our ends of the table. When I entered detention today, I had already foretold that the quaint library would become a frenzied battle arena. With John Bender, it's almost impossible for it not to convert.

"You tired yet, Nightingale?" he questions, challenging my strength with the typical smirk spread over his lips. "I'll be nice, what lullaby do you want me to sing? I can do Mary Had a Little Lamb, Rockaby –"

The crusade to rescue my cigarettes instigates once again! I grasp a section of Bender's plaid shirt, tugging him backwards vigorously. I'm dreading this moment. I can't believe I'm going to do this. The only reason I'm doing this is because these cigarettes belong to my father. They are his only source of pleasure in life. This morning after preparing myself for today's tediousness, I cunningly pocketed the cheap brand of cigarettes before slipping out of the door unnoticed along with my Walkman blaring The Bangles and a banana to nourish me for the day.

I grimace as I thrust my bare hand down Bender's trousers. Unfortunately, what I have just felt wasn't the packet of economical cigarettes, and it will scar me for the rest of my natural born life. My dark brown eyes peer up at Bender, only for them to encounter his. His smirk has heightened. Why did he have to escalate the smirk to construct an even more awkward atmosphere?

"You're not wearing any boxers" I mutter, glaring at him.

"No, I am" he chuckles, using his free hand to produce the cigarettes from out of their hiding place. "You just made the mistake of putting your hand down the wrong place" My plump lips part, shocked from what event had just occurred. "It's fine with me though"

He winks, copying what I did earlier on. Bender's eyes flick over to the entrance, and suddenly his face contorts into something I've never seen before.

"Oh my God, Simmone!" Bender exclaims erotically, interweaving his fingers in my hair and compressing my head onto his robust chest. I raise my eyebrow once again. What the hell is he doing? A cough distracts me from musing over what devious scheme Bender is playing at currently.

My eyes widen, and my mouth opens and closes at a dynamic speed. In front of us is the Janitor, standing there with his eyes enlarged and the most embarrassed glow of scarlet beaming from his cheeks. My head snaps back at Bender who is smirking triumphantly; it's only now I realise that my hand is still down his pants. I remove it instantly, wiping it on my stirrup pants to eliminate anything that may be contagious. After all, if the rumours drifting around the boisterous hallways of Bender and his love for women are factual, I don't wish to take any risks.

"The man took my cigarettes. Sometimes, a girl has to do what a girl has to do" I attempt to defend myself, snatching the white packet from Bender's possession and rattling them to justify myself further with a nervous giggle.

"Don't listen to her, Sir. After all, this is Simmone Nightingale whose hand was down my pants. Everybody knows what that means" Bender snaps, all of his biting words directed at me.

The anecdotes have survived to this day. Everybody adores inventing malicious stories about me. All because of that one accident when I was eleven. It wasn't my fault. I was infuriated, my temper was ferocious that fateful day. But I have to suffer the excruciating consequences of all the words I ever uttered. Not only that, but the harrowing memories are practically murdering me, rupturing my heart at every chance.

A tear seeps out of my eye and cascades down my cheek. I shove Bender away, meandering to my seat, feeling the dishonourable sensation of Bender watching me as I do so. The Janitor has since left, leaving me with a man I despise.

"I know it isn't true"

Anger explodes inside of me, portraying a seething fire surging throughout my body. I twist around to face Bender whose face is now melancholic with an element of guilt. This isn't the Bender I have known since elementary school, it's someone different.

"Then why the fuck say it?" I bellow, catapulting all of my emotions onto him. Bender is unaffected as usual and is just sat there with his arms overlapping, and eyes intent on viewing my reaction. "If you know it isn't true, then why would you say it to him?"

"Rumours hurt, don't they? Though you don't say them, you listen. You listen to every goddamn one with pleasure because you're fed up of others doing it to you"

He's correct. I am fatigued from every little story disgorging out of peoples mouth like a typewriter typing up the latest scandal. None of them are sincere, there is no honesty entangled in the words. But because of the shame engraved into my name, I endure them.

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_Finally got another chapter wrote! Wow, I'm really impressed at the response I've gotten for this story! Thank you everyone for everything! Please review because I'd really like to know your opinion on this chapter. Also, I just like getting them, it's fun to see what you guys think. _

_Thank you for reading :D_

_~VogueCharlotteVogue_


	4. Respectable

All Bender does is cackle manically at my inflamed reaction to his distasteful suggestion. It was all initiated by an intimate enquiry on Bender's behalf. I was thunderstruck from the private inquest into my life and couldn't help but to unwillingly grant my jaw to promptly cascade. Not even my own control within me could hinder the drop. The question was explicit, bordering on an interest beyond Bender's inquisitiveness. My exact response was screaming: 'Go to hell!' before catapulting the book I had commenced reading earlier on once I made it coherent and eloquent to Bender that he wasn't to glance at me, nor was he to even converse with me. Whether it be casual or an articulate negotiation, I commanded him not to utter a word in my direction subsequent to his game prior to this precise moment where it involved me touching a part of him my fingertips should have never grasped.

"Did I stutter, Nightingale?" Bender chuckles, inhaling a drag of the bitter nicotine before liberating the ashen grey pillar of smoke crafted into miniscule rings, his mouth chomping on them only to replicate the cycle. "I said: have you lost your virginity yet?" Whilst repeating the question, his molten chocolate brown eyes peer down to my breasts, the glimmer in those eyes being as lurid as Bender can possibly make it. "More importantly, Nightingale, would you lose it to me?"

Again, my jaw declines rapidly, a squeak granting itself emancipation from my voicebox. Each of my facial features distorts into ferocity, nostrils flaring and a gush of crimson accessing the pores of my porcelain skin. I snatch the book entitled '_Picasso's Great Works' _but before I can even hurl it at Bender amused face, he clasps onto my wrist allowing the book to plummet to the floor, a torn page where the 1941 painting depicting a lover of Picasso falls out of the snow white pages consisting of a rustic font containing descriptions. Both mine and Bender's eyes simultaneously drift down to the page.

"Dora Maar au Chat. Most expensive painting in the world" Bender murmurs as if he is immersed in the scanned image exhibiting one of Picasso's paintings. My almond shaped eyes, the pigment identical to Bender's, snap up at him out of astonishment. From what I perceived in the hallways during our mandatory breaks, Bender doesn't enrol himself in Art classes after an incident involving luminous paint and three of his friends, and of course, the notorious Bender.

"She's only abstract because of his frustrations towards her" I mention in a whisper, our eyes, again at the same pace and time, raising to chain together.

"Why don't you address Dora Maar by her full name, Nightingale? She's a human being, we all deserve respect shown in that way, don't you think?" he hisses. Bender's eyes don't motion away from mine, like they are anchored through an invisible force.

"Then why don't you call me Simmone?" I snap, but still I don't rupture the force, something doesn't yearn for me to. Despite the odium I feel towards him, there is no possibility from being unshackled from the serenity. It's like I can almost see the liquefied dark brown hue colliding together in waves.

"Why don't you call me John instead of Bender? You think I like being directly lectured by my surname, Nightingale?" Bender whispers in a daunting yet critical tone, as if the words he says are sincere.

Could it be Bender feels the same towards judgments but only masquerades it to be worshipped by friends and attached to the mandatory guidelines structured for our uncharacteristic society in education? We have no path to freedom, only beliefs and stereotypes to chaperon us and mould us into characters. The traits we have today are created correspondingly through development starting with our parents, the next stage being through scrutiny and adoration from peers, and finally, the last stage – the definitions in our personalities. What could have constructed Bender to portray this insubordinate man? Family life, those around him?

Bender leans in, his nicotine seasoned lips nearly abutting mine, those chocolate pigments dancing in the suns beams accessing this room from the circular window located to our left. Enclosing those eyes are prolonged eyelashes, not dropping once in his intent stare. I continue to look into them, a war of intimidation on both sides commencing. Never will I cast my head or sight down to anyone.

"Do you think I do?" I reply quietly, in a whisper with touches of a hiss. At that interrogation mirroring Bender's last words, he retracts and slumps into the back of his seat. Though he has positioned himself in front of me, his eyes never relocate themselves to another object.

"About that virginity of yours, has the cherry popped or not? If it has, who and when? If it hasn't, there's a cupboard right over there" Bender yawns, a sudden tilting in his head gesturing to the cupboard to our left where books of literature and non-fiction are stored.

Arms folded in dominance, that stare still engaged, I know he isn't deceiving me. He is so casual, it is almost alarming. If I didn't know of his dishonourable repute, it would be shocking and I would be offended. Why am I not offended? This man, this person I have known for all of my school days, has just implied something in the most blatant way, not even making the endeavour to insinuate. So why am I not insulted?

"Tell or cupboard? If you won't do the second option for me, do it for Vernon. I'm sure he'd just love overhearing us two" His mesmerizing eyes, they glitter in the sunlight, and there is warmth. Not from the sun's clement fervour, but from his own disposition. There is something, a trait, prowling inside of Bender, and it can only be shown in his brown eyes. Now, it is my mission for him to show it through actions and words as well. "What's it going to be, Nightingale?"

"Call me Simmone," I snap, deliberately pausing the sentence. Somehow, Bender also knows I haven't finished talking "John. Like you said, we all deserve respect"

"Call me Bender," Bender grins, flashing his teeth at me, highly amused at something as he creates a hiatus "Simmone" My full blushed-coloured lips press against my cheeks, little dimples showing in the corners, finding the acceptance to say my first name slightly endearing. "Now that we've got name choices outta the way, what's it going to be? Cupboard or tell?"

"I'm not going into the cupboard with you, however, there is nothing to tell either" I say. Bender's eyes have a sudden luminosity to them as they widen. It's like he's staggered by this genuine fact. It is sincere though as I haven't brought myself to lose such a virtue until I meet someone I have pure love for.

"Why not?" he asks.

"Why not to what?" I reply, curious to know what the question relates to.

"Why not to why there is nothing to tell" he whispers, tilting his body over his folded arms compressed against the wooden table.

"Believe it or not, Bender, I want to meet a guy I trust before I do anything. It's a special moment between two people who love each other, or so I was taught" I motion my chair so it scrapes along the floor, a blood-curdling screech being sounded through the room, getting more proximate to Bender who persists in resting against his muscular lower arms.

"Is that why you won't go into the cupboard?" he inquires, causing my eyebrow to heighten. "Because you don't trust me?" I just stare at him, a blank stare notifying that I have no answer. Due to my development, I can't trust. Nobody, excluding a few close friends, possesses my total faith. Bender sighs deeply, almost as if he is exasperated. Does he feel some misery in me not trusting him? "Of course not, who would trust Bender the Criminal?"

Suddenly, his demeanour alters itself. Once, only mere seconds ago before musing over that unjust title engraved onto his name, he was amiable. In the present, he is enraged. It manifests in his facial features – nostrils flare, quivers of anger in his lips – it is close to frightening me. He leaps from his chair! A bang echoes where Bender slammed his palms against the table, my only reaction being a flinch.

"It's great! Bender the Criminal, Bender the Thief, Bender the fucking kid of a poor son of a bitch whose daily routine involves getting himself thrown in prison! You know, Vernon even said in an assembly once, 'Don't trust John Bender, stay away from him' all because I was selling cigarettes to kids in the grade below us, seventeen year olds and above only" Bender explodes, but unexpectedly simmers the eruption from all the unmerited nicknames catapulted at him throughout the years, and calmly takes his place in the chair again, his eyes shackled onto me through thin air. "I don't give a shit though" he snorts. "I'd rather be called that than Simmone, the girl who might as well not have a father, Simmone, the girl who argued with her mother the hour before she died"

"Shut the fuck up!" I scream, about to persevere until Bender launches out of his seat once again, thrusting a finger onto my gaped lips.

"That's why you should trust me, Simmone" he whispers, eradicating a singular bead of water trickling down my cheek with his thumb, the touch sensitive yet holding some pressure. He needn't have hauled up those two memories from my bank of recollections, the rumours and reputation sealed onto my being already do it for me. "That's why you should trust me"

And then, at those very words, I trust him.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! Sorry for the long wait once again, I've had a lot of exams on. Hope you all enjoy though, and thank you to those who reviewed on the last chapter and have favouritied and followed this story since :) _

_Ooh, and Happy Independence Day to all my American readers and I hope you all have a great day! :D _


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